
ii .Wl i m iii wj i ii i ' iinrw uwiMUMiiK wu!. . - 




Class_^ d3.^2/ 
Copyright N"__iJ?; L 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT 



Ah, softly like buds of spring, unfold 

The loftier thoughts that my soul may sing, 

And inspiration rises, as the sun of gold. 
Her bright beauties to my garden bring. 



Preface 

Marion Leone French was born August 20th, 1899, and 
educated under the public school system of the State of New- 
York in her home city. She is now in her freshman year in 
High School. 

The publication of her book of poems was undertaken by 
her father at the solicitation of her many friends. 

These poems and sketches were written at the early age of 
fourteen, fifteen, and sixteen, and with absolutely no knowl- 
edge of English, Rhetoric, Versification, etc., other than that 
usually attained in the grammar grades. 

While we recognize these imperfections, your special at- 
tention is called to the wonderful imaginative power and soul 
stirring elevation of thought, and the childlike nature of love 
and sympathy that many more mature minds do not possess. 

A. L. F., Jamestown, New York. 



BUDS NOT YET IN 
BLOSSOM 

MAKION LEONE FRENCH 



The silvery song of the brooklet chiming. 
The nightbird calling on the wing. 

To my heart returns that sad repining. 
And inward 1 begin to sing. 



Price One Dollar 






Copyright, 1916 
By ARCHIE LEON FRENCH 




FEB 25 1916 



'GI.A418988 




Age 14. 




Age 14. 

The night wind sang to the sleeping hours, 
The golden moon gazed at drowsy flowers, 
As she donned a misty cloud 
For a modest, gauzy shroud, 
Sending moon beams through the trees, 
Shaking and laughing with the summer breeze ; 
She gazed at birdlings snug in each nest. 
While keeping vigil, seeking not rest. 

5 



The sleepy cow-slip hung her head, 

Sweet little violets were tucked in bed, 

The primrose by the road side closed, 

Slim, tall daisies in the meadows reposed. 

The dark branches clasped hands 'neath a starlit sky, 

While slumbering hours skipped softly by. 

Wrapt in silence, so deep, so still. 

Weirdly echoed the Whip-poor-will. 

Down in the waiting dell 

Chimed the leaf song of the blue bell. 

Calling a light-winged merry throng, 

To fill the glen with laughter and song. 

To answer her dainty, flowery ring, 

First appeared the Fairy Queen. 

"Fair Maids, recline in each scented bud. 

While we sing of joy, and careless love." 

Lily Scent, 

"Come, let's spend these idle hours. 

Healing the wounded hearts of flowers. 

The wild cherry bloom, her tenderness crushed 

By the rude wind, and jealous bullrush. 

The dandelion, her heart of gold 

Pierced by the grasses blade cruel and bold ; 

Come, let's do a world of good tonight, 

Before the morning's returning light." 



Gay Spirits. 

''Come, my queen gay and fair, 

Sail down the stream, in a blossom rare ; 

Dainty oars of willow weed made. 

To carry us 'neath the hazel branch shade. 

Let's float down the moonshone stream, 

In a mythical care-free dream. 

Charming elves dance on the fallow. 

Strewn with willow weed and mallow. 

Haste, while the moon's smile is bright, 

Toward the calm and listening night ; 

Come, my queen, let not the moments waste, 

But come, embark in wing'ed haste, 

Heartlove. 

Come, let's think of the mortals' life. 
Ebbing o'er with pain and strife, 
Ne'er has our virtue entered in. 
Their dark lives, clouded with sin. 
Let's think of their shadowed days. 
While the green-wood rings with our plays. 
Come my queen, our pleasure double, 
Robbing hearts of their trouble. 

Of sudden and happy delight, 
A silver laugh, awoke the night. 
First appeared the golded ray 
Of the new born coming day ; 
They were off on their mission of love, 
Guiding hearts to God above ; 
Leading souls to know His grace, 
Unveiling to them His smiling face. 
Once more grief, despair and sorrow. 
Were healed on the fairy-made morrow. 




minttt 

Age 15. 

Ah, soft, sleeping winter, your drifts are 'fore me spread ; 

They robe the lifeless world, like the shrouds of the dead. 

The icy winds o'er the hills are heard. 

Their lamentations are as a funeral dirge. 

But Thou, Dead Earth, shall rise in Springtime's sunny dream 

And bathe thy chilly limbs in Her warm dews and stream, 

And all the budding beauty shall their perfumed pink unfold, 

And wave their little tendrils 'mid the air of sunlight gold. 

Down by the hawthorne, 'mid her flowering limbs. 

The early waking robins shall lift their matin hymns. 

And the pussy-willows waiting down in the leafy woods, 

To Springtime's beckoning, slip on their little hoods. 

And if my life be as Winter's barren breast 

In the Springtime of Eternity I'll find my promised rest. 



BlofWf Oh winds, and scatter the sweeping snow, 
No more chill are they than are tiie drifts of woe ; 
Though the heavens be of leaden, and tiireatemng dark. 
The spirit of Sprii^time sbaSk flourish in the heart. 
Though life's blizzards be blackening, deep and drear. 
The promise of Eternity lends its warmth and shelter here. 



Cucstfons 

Age li. 

What makes the world so new, 
Qoth'ed in the sparkling dew ? 
WTiy is it that the bhie bird sings, 
Darting on his sapphire wings ? 
WTiy is it tinted buds unfold. 
After the winter drear and cold ? 
Why do violets appear in masses, 
'Neath the green and growing grasses ? 
Why do boughs, once brown and bare. 
Now toss tassels in the air? 
WTiy does Life change to a happy dream. 
In this mirthful budding spring ? 



if3eto gear's (JBtie 

Age 15. 

Silently in snow the fields are sleeping, 

O'er the hills hangs the heaven's blazing light, 

Gilded rays o'er the snows are creeping, 
'Mid diamonds glistening bright. 

The woodland's wail, the scattering snow. 
The snowbird's song, the drifting leaves. 

The noisy northwind in glee doth glow 
To taunt the tall forest trees. 

I sat and mused by the fireside, 

Of old days, old friends, old pleasures, 

Until my heart began to chide 
The Present's toilsome measures. 

How like a light, we do meet, 

In life's darksome night 
A thought, a friend, a memory sweet, 

To make our pathway bright. 

Though we wander in the realms of sin, 

And roam blindly away. 
How God opes his heart to receive us in, 

Each and every passing day. 

Now enter another year once more ! 

Roll into Eternity again, 
With the same joys, the frets of yore. 

One sweet repeated refrain. 

Oh, God from your throne above, 

I breathe this prayer to you. 
Rule o'er us with undying love — 

Oh, could our transgressions be few. 

10 



And to the hand which gave this life to me 
With its sorrows, its sunhght and smile, 

Could my stumbling footsteps follow thee 
O'er each and every mile. 



ancboteD 

Life's storms are threatening, chill and dark, 
But o'er their stormy billows rocks my barque, 
Storm-tossed and broken is my spirit, 
My prayer for guidance. Father hear it ! 
Until I sail in the sunset west, 
Where all waters are calm and blest. 

Though winds wail boisterous loud and strong, 

To Thee, I chant, undying song ; 

Oh, if I ever your shining face meet. 

Oh, to kneel at Thy divine feet. 

But guide my spirit broken and forlorn 

Through life's cheerless storm. 

Though billows of Temptation harp my soul. 
Oh, guide me onward to my goal ; 
Though Evils rise on the angry foam 
And through dark sin my spirit doth roam, 
'Til at last into sunset waters I stray. 
Guided each league of my pilgrimage way. 

I shall stand at the gates of shining gold, 
Gaze at beauties no lips e'er told, 
Then my Saviour I am anchored and blest 
In waters of sunshine, peace and rest. 



11 



Summer 

Summer has arrived, the dainty maid Spring foretold her com- 
ing. Her breath falls sweetly from the roses, her merriment and 
laughter is heard 'mid the birds' beautiful carols. The hills are 
laden with her tresses, her soft eyes gaze serenely from the even- 
ing heavens. She gaily rocks on the crescent moon, while sending 
moonbeams to illumine the limpid waters of the stream. She 
paints the rainbow across the sky, and a sunbeam for her arrow 
to drive the dark storm from the bower. 

Ah, Summer, fair maid, I am in the summer of life. In the 
garden of my soul the beauties blossom. Yea, they bloom, and 
are as perishable as your wondrous mantle, which the first chill 
breath of September destroys. Let not the chill of hatred or 
wrath destroy my garden of thought, wherein rest and consola- 
tion I find from this remorseless wilderness. 



12 




Co a iiiQbtbo\i$t 

Age 15. 

I saw you as a ghost, in your shroud of light 
Stand out weird amid the billows of the night. 
I saw you as a spirit hover o'er the seas of humanity, 
And as the storms of doubt thickened, you appeared as Chris- 
tianity. 
The sea gulls' direful wailing I heard o'er the foams, forlorn 
As souls in terror, fleeing from destruction's sweeping storm; 
But ah, a light, a hope creeps o'er the woeful wave, 
As the promise returning, "he will rescue, he will save." 
They ascend from the billows, and to its refuge cling. 
As 'fore heaven's open portal or storm-tossed souls we'll bring. 
And O, Father receive us in. Thou art the Lighthouse 'mid the 

storm, 
And we the scattered sea gulls, Your salvation to rest upon. 

13 



Cl)e ^anDering lining 

Age 15. 
The King : 

"Does not the patriot's eulogy to fame, 

Bid you draw the sword from the sheath? 
And with Conqueror's heart aflame 
Entwin'ed with love of laurel leaf, 
To look on the visage of Caesar — that grand and noble 
mortal, — 
Unseen powers draw the soul to heights uncomprehended, 

And as a lark which strove to heaven's pearly portal. 
And soared 'mid Fame, and the realms ascended, 

The Lark fell to his auditor's feet. 
Was not cherished, Caesar crushed by a nation — 
And fell o'er the foot of a senate seat? 

I'd give my crown for the wreath of homelike smoke 
Which wreathes your head 'fore the fireplace glow 

This stately splendor, for an unconserv'ed folk, 
For the simple annuls of the low." 

The Forester: 

"I am as free as mirthful mountain breeze, 

As a cloud which floats o'er boundless blue. 
As shadows dancing 'neath greenwood trees, 
Or sunlight o'er the iridescent dew. 

I love the deep and wailing wild. 

Her slumbering solitudes and rills ; 
Oh wood. Oh brake, I am thy child 

As are the lofty, lording hills ! 

I love the singing, silver stream. 

The music of laughing leaves ; 
Oh, melody and mirth it seems, 

I draw in with the life I breathe! 

14 



Prithee, in ragged mantle am I, 

I roam the deep forest through — 
I gird my waist with the sunset sky, 
And button it with drops of dew. 
A Piccadilly, 
A daisy frilly, 
As rich as a duke 
Me thinks I'd suit — 
The dreams of my reveried lass ! 

A penniless pauper, without a cent. 

Though a heart of true treasure is mine, 

Ah, scorn the heart who doth lament — 
For worthless wealth which shines? 



Wonting 

Age 15. 

Oh, Morn, as Thou, my hours are early. 

The dew sparkles clearly o'er my soul, 

My light is breaking in the eastern heavens, 

Just on the horizon of Life. 

Oh, God, 'til I rise to noonday's zenith, 

Till I spread my pennons o'er the purpled west, 

May not sin's stormy shadow 

Hide my face from Thee ! 



The Day with Her overflow of tears hath fled, 

Thou, calm generous Night, saw Her 'neath her sorrow blighted. 

Will Death when he sees me 'neath my burden bend, 

Fall o'er my spirit as twilight's dreamful shadow ! 

15 




Co t\)t IBxook 

Age 16. 

Oh, little brook, which winds through the woodland green, 
Your laughter still rings amid memories of long gone by, 

Your serpentine coil of waters still glide through my dream, 
And o'er the tides of time could'st I drift back on a sigh. 

I see your shining silver glide o'er sands of gleaming gold 

And waterfalls fit to veil any naiad's face, 
Your opal bubbles rising as joy and mirth untold, 

And snowy foams weaving into some fantastic lace. 

16 




Agi- 10. 



"Rushing, gushing, onward ever 

To the river behind the hill. 
Loitering, tarrying, nay never, 

Never silent, never still." 

We are as you, little brook, 
Hurrying, fleeing through time. 

Each life in Age's great book. 
Writes its simple, little line. 

'Tis on your bank bursts forth the scented bud of Spring, 
And lovelier still, 'mid thy mosses growing ; 

It is there the songster dips his tired wing 
When eventide zephyr's are sadly blowing. 

•it was there I sat by your waters of amber, 

And watched the greyling's silver sheen, 
'Mid your slippery stones I oft would clamber, 

To grasp them from crevasses in between. 

And when twilight tinted the sky, 

And fading in purple the hill o'er yonder, 

On your soft bank I used to lie. 
And meditate with childish wonder. 

Oh, brook, if I am not by thy side, 

And distance a barrier between, 
Leagues shall not our hearts divide, 

For you flow into my dream. 

And when sin disguised as pleasure 

Tempts me in his chariot race. 
O'er Life's rough race track to be hurled to eternal fate, 

I hear your silver murmuring call me — 
From sin's deep disgrace, 

"Ah, as chaste as my waters, I want you little mate 1" 

17 




C&e Cannon 

Age 14. 

This is what I want to tell 'em, 

Just keep far away from bellum, 

Habeo mea patriam, 

Safe from any wicked harm. 

With my large and roaring mouth, 

I guard the north, and I guard the south, 

And I do my level best 

In the east, and in the west. 

And you hear the best of me, 

O'er the deep and boiling sea. 

In my Pow'r I hold it all. 

For monarch stand, or country fall. 

But I have Oh, all my likes. 

For the glorious stars and stripes. 

If any foe, her honor smote 

I'll roar thunder and I'll smoke, 

And woe be to the wretched hand 

Who doeth wrong to my native land! 



18 



Decoration Dap— 3 Criftute to tbe 
tl2tl) B* ^. ^. 

Age 15. 

The bugle shrill can no more awake you to glory, 
The thundering cannon now rests in shame, 

Your lives fled 'mid scenes bloody and gory. 
On those fields of triumph and fame. 

The chains of bondage are broken asunder, 

The lash of cruelty claims not the writhing slave. 

It was heaven's command in those cannons thunder, 
The first voice of fair freedom gave. 

Wrapt in the mouldering flag their forms do lay. 
Friendship seeks their mounds to weep. 

O'er the precious sacrifice of clay, 
Which on the altar of freedom doth sleep. 

Heroes living and gathered here, 

Let tongues thy eulogies tell, 
A nation thy white hairs do revere 

To thy presence inward emotion doth swell. 

And may thy country lend contentment 

Till Heaven shall ope and her kindred claim 

To you who for righteousness fought, 
And ye in your valor slain. 



19 






Co tfte q^oon 

Age 16. 

Ah, moon, what soft silver thou dost shed. 
As living gold rises the ocean wave, 

It catches the gleam of the sea nymph's head, 
Who in the jewel'ed waters doth lave. 

I can smell your breath in the blossom's pink, 
And hear your vespers in the evening breeze, 

Can hear your chatter in the bubbling brink 
And I hear your sighs amid the pine trees. 

Hast thou been weeping, Lovely Moon? 

Your teardrops glisten 'mid grasses and flowers, 
Ah, what should'st cause thee gloom — 

Radiant Child 'mid night's soft hours ? 

Ah, gleam o'er the world, as a soft bridal veil, 
Fall o'er the earth, as an ugly woman's face, 

And robe the deep, dingy dale 
With thy soft and mystic lace. 

Thou shinest o'er the firmaments of night 

After the day hath fled. 
As its departed spirit, sleeping in light 

As a ghost of the dead. 



20 



Thou sailest as a mariner o'er the seas of night, 
O'er cloudy billow and soft dreaming blue. 

The stars have hoisted their tiny sails of white 
And drift ever after you. 

You gazed through my frosty pane one night 
And found my eyes wet with tears. 

You sent your moonbeams of exquisite light — 
I laid aside my fears. 

I am doubtful, art thou too ? 

Shining through the ages, 
Humanity a well-written book to you, 

The generations its pages. 

Oh moon, if thou watchest o'er my grave, 

A mound of moss on the hill, 
With thy tenderest moonbeams wilt thou bathe, 

And keep vigilance o'er me still ? 



21 



SHIRLEY 




C!)e Duke of afierDee 

Lady Veronica : 

"I have wearied of life in this castle of stone, 

The wild, wide world, I long her splendors to roam ; 

I'll don manhood's mantle and to Londontown I'll flee, 

And delineate the Duke of Aberdee. 

Oh, gay I'll waltz in the hilarious hall, 

At many a happy beauteous ball, 

I'll win maid's hearts and wring them to woe, 

With my graceful bow, sweeping and slow. 

I'll quaff Gascony by the banks of Thames, 

To the health and well wishes of dazzling dames. 

Oh, life shall be Arcadie for me, 

Feigning the Duke of Aberdee !" 



She goes to London and is loyally received by the nobility. 

22 



Lady Rosamond : 

"We're highly honored your presence to meet, 
In the dias assigned is the honor seat. 
Noble Youth art thou not a stranger in these parts, 
A lord of wealth, a conqueror of hearts ?" 

The Duke : 

I seek a bright blue-eyed bride. 

As beams the damsel at my side. 

Scarce 'ere a fortnight in London I've tarried — 

And your fair face forty times would I married. 

When your cheeks are crimson in blush, 

The song in my breast thrills as the thrush !" 

Lady Rosamond : 

"Ah, speakest not hopelessly of matrimony's ties, 
And of longing reveries in my pining eyes. 
In moments of darkness when I feel blue, 
The sunlight which enters is the memory of you. 
On the threshold of opening life, 
I enter now as your obedient wife !" 

The next day Lucretia, the maid : 

"Lady, as I breathe, I speak the truth, 

I saw you yester-eve in the arms of a youth. 

In the mirror reflected a satirical grin. 

When your worth, your happiness you pledged to him ; 

So reckless in manner — his speeches gay, — 

Would well become any jabbering jay ! 

My lady, my mistress, my words are true, 

My heart peals out in the perils of you !" 



23 



Lady Rosamond : 

"Speak not, my surf of inferior rank, 
So disdainfully of the Duke's capricious prank, 
His heart is deep, his words are fair 
As sunbeams 'mid June's perfum'ed air. 
His stature noble, his amiable face. 
Well might the halls of my Shirley grace ; 
Hark, I hear horsemen's approaching feet, 
Robe my body — ere my groom I meet !" 

Merrill the Messenger: 

"Fair Lady, thy hapless heart must pine. 
For he who has entered the battle's line ! 
For when he heard the battle's roar. 
With the fleetest steed he hurried o'er! 
Now lost 'mid the glory of bloody slain, — 
Beneath that banner of might and fame !" 

Lady Rosamond fell as day into twilight's gloom, 

And entered a sorrow strickened swoon. 

Tore her hair, and racked her brain. 

For the "Supposed" who never returned again. 

And aged with sorrow, her hair grew white. 

As the milky way, o'er the skies of night. 

Veronica in her hilarious glee. 

Who had feigned the Duke of Aberdee, 

Donned the frilly female garb, 

Soothed the heart she had harrowed hard, 

United as friends, ne'er man and wife. 

They consoled each other 'till the end of life. 



24 




Age 15. 



Ci)e isman of tbt I3ell0 

Age 15. 

The Bells chimed sweetly across the snow, 
They sang of Christmas cheer, 

And told of the Christ who came below, 
To dwell with mortals here. 

I heard the story of that Christmas morn 

In a shattered shed, 
The Prince of Glory unto us was born, 

A manger for his bed. 

Wise men seeking from afar 

O'er Judea's verdant plain, 
Guided by a silver star 

His Majesty to proclaim. 

The shepherds kneeling within the fold 
While wandering winds wailed strong, 

There sheltered from the heartless cold 
They joined in prayer and song. 

When the bells had hushed their lay, 
And the soft snow silently falling, 

I welcomed this beautiful Christmas Day — 
Memories of Bethlehem recalling. 



25 



CDe JFairp £tucetr0 IBriDal 

Age 15. 

"Oh Elves and Maidens of fair degree, 

Ye, thralls, bound to serve my majesty. 

Haste o'er the world this stilly night, 

Return 'fore dawn's dreamy light, 

And beg a gracious, grateful boon, 

From the rainbow, wind, dew and moon. 

Oh, haste ! ye art the fleet couriers of my court, — 

Each of you, mine honored, favored ports" ! 



The Rainbow. 

"Oh, I am a ribbon of heaven's hue. 

The message of light I bring to you; 

O'er pearly skies, swollen grey, 

I arch my bridge of tinted array. 

I am the bridge which mortals trod 

'Mid their pilgrimage to their gracious God. 

Mariner's eyes grow beaming bright. 

As they view my ever-guiding light — 

Stretched o'er the ocean's boiling blue — 

O'er her pearly foam. 

O'er loyal hearts — faithful, true, 

Whom duty bids to roam. 

In distant climes where memory stays, 

Their children flock to the door. 

And look on me with rapturous gaze. 

Ecstasy o'er my pennons pour." 

86 



The Zephyr, 

"Oh, 'neath summer's sunny skies, 

Oh, Queen, our sad, soft sighs, 

Are melody and music to the ear, 

O'er leafy lea we've journeyed here. 

Oh, as a dirge which falls from ocean waves at eve, 

We fall from the billows of petals and leaves. 

The nightingale's moan, the humming-bird's trill 

Our bosoms a beauteous melody doth fill." 

The Dew. 

"Oh, Queen, I am the dainty dazzling dew, 
My myriad splendors, I'll spread for you ; 
Oh, beautiful, iridescent am I, 
When soft silver sheds from summer's sky. 
I bathe the primroses petaled frill. 
And jewel tresses of meadow and hill. 
Fair Queen, I dare not tarry in thy bower. 
But don a diamond, to each fringed flower" ! 

The Moonbeam. 

"Oh, I am a moonbeam, o'er shadowed earth I gleam. 

And robe her crevasses in my silver sheen, 

I pour my beauty o'er her hushed hills. 

Reflect my ardor o'er the rushing rills, 

Oh, Queen, may I be a luminous light. 

Guide the procession through the night? 

Now flit I, the blithe and free. 

Over the laughing, leafy lea." 

The Queen. 

"When harebells tell the wedding strain 
In the shadowed woodland meet me again." 
27 




Cfte COillotai 

Age 15. 

Why lament ! each cloud hath a silver lining, 
Your drooping arms wail pathetic and sad. 

Soon the sun from heaven will be shining, 
To gaze at nature, smiling and glad. 

List to the nightingale 'mid thy bowers, 
His mournful note to the summer gave. 

And 'mid the dreams of music and flowers. 
His note weeps melancholy and grave. 
28 



Harken to the zephyr, his wailing song, 
Echoes grimly in the forest deep. 

His broken sigh, mournful and forlorn, 
Doth in thy sheltering bosom sleep. 

Why wail so loudly of grief? 

When passing years are scurrying. 
When Time is so short, so brief. 

And thru the Ages hurrying ! 

Onward, crushed to stain and dust, 

To decay, we are her own. 
To live we may, to die we must, 

And to repentance be borne. 

Sing to the sun, and shed your rain, 
And let your boughs echo with cheer, 

Stop lamenting so grave, so vain. 
And breathe the song of rapture here. 

Give to the wind your rapturous note. 
And flood the calm and summer eve 

With the music from thy throat, 
And the merriment you breathe. 



29 




Ci)e DID l0ome$teaD 

Age 14. 

Does the wing'ed herald Memory oft' stand by your side, 
And with vanished hours your straying thoughts abide, 
With the morning glories, the honeysuckle vines, 
Which flourish, and about the heart entwines ? 
The creeking gate, the carved oak door. 
Which guides to the fireside's warmth no more. 
The gabled roof, sheltered by a bending apple tree. 
Where the bird's carolled songs fell ever blithe and free. 

30 



The bachelor's buttons nodding 'neath the fragrant lilac trees, 
And bowing to the fuchsia bending with the breeze, 
The tiger lilies smiling to the rose, modest and reserved, 
Blushing at the thought of being thus observed. 
When down o'er the purple hills falls the day, 
Sweet is the evening breeze with new-mown hay, 
The ripening crops embedded in the fields within your gaze. 
Watched and nourished by the sun, of idle, summer's days. 

The fourposted bed, in dimity and siJk, 

The inviting feathers, the patchwork quilt. 

The rag mats lying on the warp'ed floor of pine. 

The tall hall clock which mournfully told time. 

The horse-hair furniture in the darkened parlor setting. 

And the sunbeam through the closed shutters fretting. 

The organ carved and silent stood awaiting the guest, 

The sofa soft, and tempting where the weary found rest. 

Grandma's open Bible on the dining table laid. 

While flickering candle light o'er its yellow leaves played, 

Her silver hair parted o'er a brow we love and mourn, 

But she to heaven, on angel wings was borne. 

How I long to hear her say 

"Let me kiss the pain away," 

But only her angel lips can reach the longing 

And kiss away the sorrow to a pining heart belonging. 



31 



Spring 

Age 14. 

I heard the robin on my window sill, 
I saw the dainty bud bloom to a frill, 
The whole green world danced with mirth 
At the Spring-time's beautiful birth, 
And from his branch-swing over head 
The carolling, sweet-voiced robin said, 
"My heart is light! My heart is gay! 
As mirthful as this bright warm day! 
A goblet of joy fills my breast. 
Hear my song ! see my crest !" 

I wandered by the laughing rill, 

A mirror for the daffodil, 

"Through fields of daisies, buttercups and clover, 

My silver feet are skipping over. 

Don't you hear my pretty song! — 

Harmonizing all day long? 

With the birds, with the bees and silver dew. 

That make this old world bright for you ! 

Tinted blossoms on my bosom sleep, — 

Until the gushing river I meet !" 

I really wondered what I said, 
For the red maple blushed so red, 
"I've been loved by a pretty maid. 
Who once strolled 'neath my shade." 
"You beautiful tree!" the girl cried. 
To keep from blushing, I really tried, — 
But the words fell from those lips so fair, 
Into the Springtime's listening air. 

32 



I wandered 'neath the apple trees, 
A delicate aroma filled the breeze, 
"We do our sunshine mission here. 
The bees, the birds, the Spring to cheer, 
Dainty cups of pink and white. 
Kissed by 'the sunbeam, wooed by the night, 
What is sweeter than a spray, a bloom — 
For a darkened, cheerless room? 

Golden footsteps fall in the shade. 

Roam through deep grasses, dew-bathed. 

Dainty fairies in my petals sleep. 

While drowsy stars, love-watch keep, 

What is dearer than an orchard in May,— 

Pouring fragrance all the day? — 

The sweet little voices of the feathered throng, 

Fill happy hours, my budding boughs with song." 

Have a Spring in your saddened spirit. 
Let other darkened souls feel and hear it, 
The flowers bloom, the birds on wing. 
Are only Nature's sunny Spring, ^ 

Have one in your Winter heart 
And the sunny thoughts will ne'er depart. 



33 



Age 15. 

Don't have any doubt or fear, 

For the happy coming year; 

Like snow untrodden is the time ahead, 

For your worthy feet to tread. 

Tread each mile with a heart of gladness. 

Forget the old year's trials and sadness. 



34 



Perhaps I've tarried in the tavern of your thoughts too long, 

And have intruded on my hospitable few, 
But as a passing minstrel, now I will end my song, 

Take my harp, take my staff, and bid ye all adieu ! 



35 



11 HI' iii 



JC5 A 



